When Sakata pulled off his third ejection of the month, his supervisor Kuroda said nothing.
He just stared at his terminal and let out a long, slow breath.
“Recovery costs come out of our department again.”
That was it.
Sakata’s job was equipment maintenance in the proximal gravity zone — manual servicing of observation units installed near a black hole binary system. Not especially difficult work. Keep your distance so you don’t get pulled in, approach the unit, retighten the bolts, head back. He’d been doing it for three years.
Except Sakata kept getting blasted away.
The first time, it was written up as “equipment malfunction.” The second, “operator error.” By the third, people had started treating it as a personal talent of his.
“Sakata, what were you doing? Same position again?”
That was Murata, one of the junior techs.
“No, I followed the manual exactly—”
“Did you come in from behind the unit?”
“From the front. The normal way.”
Murata paused for a moment.
“The front — which front?”
“The, uh… north side…”
“North side as in, the direction where that long smoky streamer thing comes out?”
Sakata went quiet.
He ran through all three incidents in order. First time: hit by violent pressure right as he started work. Second: blown clear the instant he got close. Third, today: airborne before he’d tightened a single bolt.
”…What is that smoky thing, exactly?”
“A jet. It’s blasting gas out at half the speed of light. That’s not an entrance — that’s an exit.”
“An exit.”
“Yeah. What you’ve been calling the front is the exit. The back is actually the safe side — more like the entrance.”
Sakata couldn’t say anything for a while.
For three years, he had been standing directly in front of the exhaust port.
He went to report to Kuroda. The supervisor still hadn’t looked up from his terminal.
“I understand now.”
“The cause?”
“Yes. I’ve been… working from the exit side. The whole time.”
Kuroda looked up.
“Three years?”
“Yes.”
A silence.
“You got blasted every time, and every time you walked back in the same way.”
”…Yes.”
Kuroda pressed a hand to his forehead.
“I honestly can’t tell if you’re just tough, or if the jet’s unusually weak.”
”…I’m sorry.”
“One more question. Why did you keep going in from the same direction?”
Sakata answered honestly.
“The manual said ‘North-side access recommended.’”
Kuroda set his terminal down.
”…Show me that manual.”
Three minutes later, he was on the internal line to Administration.
“The north and south sides in the maintenance manual are reversed. Probably has been since the first edition. How long ago was that?”
He listened to the reply and gave a small nod.
“Twenty-three years. Thank you.”
He hung up.
“Sakata. This wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh…”
“That said — you got blown away three times. At some point, maybe question it.”
Sakata went quiet.
Kuroda went quiet.
Behind both of them, Murata erased his presence and hurried back to his desk.